Now this is what I'm talkin' about.

What's not to love about this?

Foggy Coffey Park

Red Hook was engulfed by fog early yesterday.

Not Like a Baroque Ceiling or Anything

Very occasionally (like this morning) I will ride the train into Manhattan when the weather is just too pernicious and I am just too lazy. When I take the Subway, I usually bring Frank O'Hara's collected along with me for company. This morning, I rediscovered the following:

Fond Sonore

In placing this particular thought
I am taking up the cudgel against indifference
I wish that I might be different but I am
that I am is all I have so what can I do

as the hero of the hour I might have one strange destiny
but it is all mixed up and I have several
I can’t choose between them they are pulling me aloft
which is not to say up like a Baroque ceiling or anything

where is the rain and the lightning to drown or burn us
as there used to be
where are the gods who could abuse and disabuse us often
when am I ever in the country walking along a lane plotting murder

you would think that the best things in life were free
but they’re the worst even the air is dirty
and it’s this "filth of life" that coats us against pain
so where are we back at the same old stand buying bagels

I think that is would be nice to go away
but that’s reserved for TV and who wants to end up in Paradise
it’s not our milieu
we would be lost as a fish is lost when it has to swim

and yet and yet
this place is terrible to see and worse to feel
along with the purple you have contracted for an awful virus
and it is Christmas and the children are growing up

Spoooooook!

Me (to cyclist at the foot of Manhattan Bridge last night): Ahoy there chap!
Fellow Cylist: Yeah?
Me: Say...What sort of Halloween creatures really love bicycle wheels?
Fellow Cyclist (not sure what to make of me): Uh...I don't know.
Me: Why, the SPOOOOOOKY ones, of course.

Mwah ha ha ha ha

My New Commute

So I'm doing freelance work at a local hospital and have a wonderful new 9.2 mile commute to work. After work, I usually take the West Side Greenway back down, making the entire commute a 21 mile loop.

Although 1st Avenue can be dangerously congested in the mornings, I feel pretty at ease with the traffic. In NYC, the cars are usually only going as fast as you are and I tend not to hot foot it to work (I'd rather not show up drenched, you know). The only thing that bugs me are the exhaust fumes and I'm dealing with that by wearing a kerchief--not really my style, but it's a situation where function trumps form. If I were really concerned about form, I'd go find a vendor that sells a wider variety of bandanna than the paisley kind.

Highlights of my commute include biking past the UN building at 44th and 45th Streets. I've noticed this gargantuan bronze equestrian statue that I'm going to take some snapshots of for my friend Bill. He's planning on having an equestrian statue erected over his memorial grave site and I figure he needs to start collecting images of equestrian statuary as soon as possible for ideas.

At 59th Street, I'm often cycling beneath the Roosevelt Island Sky Tram. I love the sky tram and wish there were more of them all over the city. I think they make me nostalgic for that one James Bond film set partly in Rio de Janeiro.

Across the East River at 94th is Randalls Island, home of the Manhattan State Mental Hospital. There's a very cool pedestrian bridge (very minty green, very made-out-of-toothpicks looking) that crosses the narrow channel from Manhattan to Randalls. If you can stand the desolate bike path on the Tri-Boro, this little bridge is the way to get to it.

For the ride home, it's West to Central Park and then south through the park to 72nd Street. At 72nd Street, I head west to the Hudson River Greenway

The Greenway (except for its tendency to be overcroweded with other commuters) is just about the best bike path in the city. I take it all the way to Canal Street and then head east back to the Manhattan Bridge. From there it is "Home again home again jiggity jig."

I'm spending a little more than 90 minutes on my bike each day. Fantastic! Tomorrow, I'll share some photos from the commute.

About One Year Ago

This here is the text of an email I sent last year on October 18th. It recounts an incident I witnessed on the Manhattan Bridge. This morning I remembered this incident and decided to share it. The moral: Wear your helmet!

From: Ethan Fugate [mailto:ejfugate@gmail.com]
Sent: Wednesday, October 18, 2006 1:43 PM
To: xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Subject: Always wear your helmet

So...I'm on my way to work this morning. Beautiful, warm, morning. I'm having a nice ride...except I notice that here and there, the surface is a little slippery--wet leaves on Clinton, metal plates all over the place--I'm thinking, be careful not to slide under a truck or something, Fugate. I get to the downhill Manhattan side of the Manhattan Bridge, which is always a nice part of the ride. You relax a little and let gravity do its work. I notice that about 100 yards in front of me is a familiar figure. It's the little old lady I see most mornings on my commute. She rides this tiny kids' bike with a bananna seat and is quite slow. I always enjoy seeing her. She's Chinese I think. You go, little old Chinese lady!

The Manhattan Bridge has two bike paths--one on the north side of the bridge and one on the south. The north path is supposed to be the bike path and the south side is the foot path. Earlier this month, they closed the north path for repairs and have redirected bikes to share the south path with pedsestrians. The south path has these metal connecting plates (I think they're connecting plates) which are curved and create a slight bump in the path. They aren't pleasant to ride over at high speeds. And this morning, one of them turned out to be treacherous for little old Chinese lady.

I'm catching up with her on the downhill and am about 30 feet behind her when she goes over one of the metal bump connectors. And then it was like watching one of those extreme video clips in slo mo. Her front tire gets out of control and turns 90 degrees, she goes over the handlebar like a rag doll, slams into the railing. I see her head head the concrete (no helmet) and then she ends up limp on the bike path. A pedestrian heading our way from about 40 feet from where we are drops her mouth and freezes.

I'm off my bike and next to her in what seems like an instant. She's face up and obviously in some kind of distress. I attempt to make a verbal assessment and ask "Are you okay? Are you okay?" The pedestrian has unfroze and starts to walk up to us. She's also of Asian descent. The old lady's eyes flutter open and then closed and then she makes this weird gurgling sound. I go to my saddle bag and get my phone to dial 911. I'm back next to the old lady and telling her she's going to be okay and trying to explain to the 911 dispatcher that no, we're not on the Brooklyn Bridge, we're on the Manhattan Bridge! about 5 times. As I'm talking to the dispatcher, I'm looking at grandma and suddenly this pool of blood starts to spread out from under her head--just like in the movies. "She's bleeding, man!" I yell into the phone and they tell me the EMTs are on the way and that I should try and stop the blood with a clean cloth.

I try to ask the pedestrian, who has stopped to gawk, whether she has any clean cloth, but she doesn't understand so...off with my outer shirt and I started applying pressure. There is so much blood. Meanwhile another cyclist stops and asks to help. I explain that I've called 911. He says "I saw a cop on the other side of the birdge. I'll go get him." and off he rides.

I'm holding the ladies hand and trying to keep her from getting up (which she does a couple of times) and trying to figure out the best way to staunch a head wound. The pool of blood is getting pretty big and I'm a little freaked out. The way that the blood had clotted in her hair made it feel like a huge flap of her scalp had been peeled off and egads it was freaky. Grandma touches my hand, which is covered in blood and then there's this point where she looks at her fingers, now covered in blood and realizes that she's bleeding. This look of terror fills her eyes and it's like her and me and I'm thinking "please don't die. please don't die little chinese lady."

A trio of joggers comes up and one of them all bossy like is "What happened?" She explains that she's a nurse practicioner and takes over. The bike cop that the cyclist went after finally arrives and now there are two folk who are more prepared for this kind of thing than me. Her two friends jog back down to the Manhattan side of the bridge to wait for the EMTs.

Nurse lady takes over. I've gotten my shirt under grandmas head as well as to apply pressure and she's like, no--don't elevate head wounds. She asks the cop for some gloves and he produces a pair of sterile gloves for her and she proceeds to examine the wound. Meanwhile, I'm still holding onto grandmas hand and trying to reassure her.

The cop takes my name and asks if I want gloves too and I hold up my bloody hands as if to say, doesn't really matter now. After what was about 5 more minutes, but something that seemed like more like an hour I spot the EMTs...fat, and casually walking up the path toward us. I mean they couldn't have walked any slower. Nurse explains to the EMTs when they finally got there. that it looks like an abrasion and that grandma's color is still good and she's responsive. I was glad to hear this. While the EMTs are wrapping up grandma's head, Nurse tells me, "Yeah. It really looked a lot worse than it is. Scalp wounds always bleed more than other wounds. It was a good thing you were here though." "But I was terrified. I thought she was dying." "Well she probably has a concussion, but you helped keep her calm. Blah blah blah." The EMTs get her on the gurney and I wave goodbye to grandma (she waves back) and then I proceed to finish my commute to work.

Moral of this story. Always wear a helmet.

Monty Python: Bicycle repairman!

Zinc Bar Reading

This past Sunday, I rode into the city to see one of my very best good friends, Jen, read with two other excellent poets at the Zinc Bar Reading Series. It was October 1 and 78 degrees in Brooklyn. Beautiful but strange weather for this time of year.

Jen read with two other poets, Chris Martin and MacGreggor Card. Hosted by poetry impressario, Jim Behrle, the Zinc Bar readings are usually quite good and often entertaining to boot.

Jen's poetry always climbs inside my head and tries to drive me around like I'm a giant robot and her poetry is the driver. This night, she made me want to go home and get writing. It was a good time. Here is an animation of one of the poems she read that night. It's about Pluto and is speedy so listen fast!

The Manhattan Bridge is still under some kind of renovation. Unbeknownst to me, it looks as though the north bike path has re-opened. This is good news. Excellent news. Super special candy coated news. Less congestion on the bridge and hopefully less pedestrian traffic since the southern side is more photogenic. As I was crossing Sunday night on the south side, all of the floor plates were flipped up and workers were crawling around in the wiring high above the East River. I kept getting flags in my face to slow down. I suppose it wouldn't be good to bike into one of those open holes. I'm so glad to hear the north path is open again.

Not-So Panasonic Sport Deluxe

Coltrane and I came upon this wreck during an extended morning walk. She looks like a perfect candidate for my bike portrait series. This bike is chained to a street sign near the corner of Beard and Dwight Street, right across the way from what used to be Lillie's Bar. Come to think of it, I seem to recall seeing this very same corpse of a bike every time I visited that wonderful place. It sure looks like it's been there for a long time. I reckon the businesses moving into this part of RH won't brook bike corpses littering the land so I doubt it'll be there much longer. Anyway, we're looking at a Panasonic Sport Deluxe. The frame is a "woman's" frame, whatever that means. Here's a picture of what it might have looked like in its heyday. I get why the seat post and pedals are missing, but where, oh where did the tires go? Did they rot off or something?

Judging from the wear on chainstay, it looks at least as though this bike enjoyed a lot of use.

Inertia and a Transporter Malfunction

So I’ve been back in NYC for over 2 months and haven’t been updating the blog at all, the reason for which will be explained shortly. Yesterday, my copy of the Poetry Project Newsletter came in the mail and it turns out there’s a little blurb about me and my trip and directing folks here to see what I’ve been up to. Guess I’d better get crackin’…

I’ve been up to just about but not quite absolutely nothing is what. I went from extreme momentum to extreme inertia in the matter of days after completing my trip and haven’t quite gotten up to normal speed yet. Or, if you’ll allow me to geek out for a paragraph or so…

Of all the possible twists and turns in the upscale and kooky sci-fi world of Gene Rodenberry, the most stressful possible plot point of an episode of Star Trek, in any of the franchises, is that moment when there is some sort of transporter malfunction. I'm not talking about the kind of malfunction when the poor redshirt being transported ends up a pile of goo on the tranporter platform floor, I'm talking about the kind that usually results from alien interference, a temporal anomaly, a feedback loop, or any other deus ex machina where-in the transportee is stuck in mid transport, his or her molecules unable to coalesce back into solid form. This phenomenon is usually portrayed on screen in the transporter room. Onlookers gape in horror as the ghosts of their crewmates appear on the transporter platform but do not completely appear and are unable to be resolved into whole beings again. The transporter hiccup moment is a moment that occurs at least once I think in each of the franchises and I've just recently realized, are moments that disturb me on a very basic level. Oh...it is a very stressful situation but is almost always resolved when the engineer performs some sort of "just in time" fine tuning but still...

Okay Poindexter, time to pull it together…which is what I’m doing. I’m pulling together a manuscript based on the trip and will hopefully get to showing it to folk w/in the next month or so.

Also, today’s the day I restart the blog. There’ll be regular entries and hey, we’re still about $1,500 bucks short of the cancer research goal. I really want to hit that goal by Novemeber. I’m also gonner start a bike portrait of the week entry. I’ve been thinking about how the personality of a bike exists even when and sometimes especially when it doesn’t have a rider. My neighborhood has its share of bikes locked up and I’ve been “taking portraits” of them. We’ll see. You’ll see. Everyone will see.

50 days--3,500 miles

On Saturday, July 28 I dipped my tires into the Atlantic Ocean at Coney Island. My bike trip across the U.S. and Canada is done.

My good friends Jen and Allison biked the last few miles from their neighborhood in South Park Slope to Coney. We enjoyed the surf a little, had some greasy food, and were disappointed that the batting cages are completely gone.

I'm re-adjusting to the idea of not waking up and getting on my bike to ride. I'm also saying howdy to friends I haven't seen in nearly two months. It is a very interesting re-entry.

There are a number of gaps I want to fill in regarding the trip. Especially entries that I promised were forthcoming. They still are. Keep tuned for regular updates and thanks for all of the support and good will.

On Friday, the day I got back, I met Jen, Allison, Sue, Natasha, and Coltrane. Superfriends all.

Leaving Ontario--Part 1, Some Photos

It's been 5 days since the last update. It's day 46 and I'm about 30 miles west of Syracuse, NY in the little town of Clyde, NY. I want to get back on the road, but have some interesting photos to share first. Part 2 of this entry will detail two of the most interesting days of this trip.

In the distance here, is the city of Toronto, as seen from across the lake in Grimsby, Ontario.

Leaving Ontario, Part II: A Total Tipping Point, a Blizzard, and Best All Around

I woke from a troubled sleep at Lake Shalamar Campground, a family campground located just north of the Canadian side of the falls. The night before had been filled with the shrieks (profanity laced) of teenage girls gone wild. The Lake Shalamar Campground staff totally let the rest of us down when they did not get this situation under control early enough. These girls and their cougar mom/chaperon (yes, she hit on me) had their tent pitched in the space next to mine and this was one of those places where you are assigned a campsite and can’t find your own. It was also one of those places where the management thinks it is a good idea to hire a rock-n-roll cover band to entertain the rest of the campers. Yes…a campground cover band. Lake Shalamar is an “all-inclusive” campground I reckon.

But Ethan, you might be saying to me right now, didn’t you know that with the assigned campsite you would lose that precious independence you’ve worked so hard to achieve over the course of the ride? And…dude. Didn’t the flags go up when you learned there was going to be a band playing? A flipping band? At a campground?

Well…I was not happy about the camping situation, but then, I had learned that Camp Shalamar was just about all I could reasonably expect to find in terms of legal camping. Sure. I reckon I could have hobbitted off to some secluded spot off the side of the road, but at the end of my last day in Ontario, I was tuckered. Too tuckered to make a guerrilla go of it. So I figured I’d take my chances with the family campground. As far as the cover band goes…well, you’ve got me there. But…and I mean BUT…the band had this amazing handmade poster. A collaged affair taking two disparate elements and making them become one. To wit…the resulting collage image was that of Frank Sinatra and Dee Snyder (of Twisted Sister fame) singing a duet. Now. Let me ask you this. How many times have you been to a campground where a cover band played? How many times have you heard a cover band that did both Frank and Twisted Sister?

Okay? Okay. I thought that the sheer absurdity value of this band would more than make up for the potential loud factor. Also: the woman who assigned me my spot claimed that Lake Shalamar had a strict noise policy and that they would be done by 10.

All of this is wishful thinking. First of all, the commissary at this place sold .5% wine coolers. Hardly enough alcohol in those things to induce a sleep if things got loud (which they did). They were, however, Bartyle and James brand coolers, which sent me back to a nostalgic middle school place. Yeah…sorry mom and dad...wherever you are, but I managed to have my first wine cooler when I was in the 8^th grade. Second: the band played Van Halen and Eagles covers…and that’s all. And they played until 11:30. Third: see shrieking teenagers above.

Bitch. Bitch. Moan. Moan. It must be hard for a person who manages to find the time to do a cross country bike ride to deal with something as horrible as a bad night’s sleep. You poor thing. I know. I know. But I’m just trying to illustrate why it was that I was up at 4:45 in the morning and breaking down my camp. Also: why I was in a pretty poor mood when I first saw the falls.

You’ve seen the pictures from the first entry. Niagara Falls is beyond sublime in many ways. It’s also beyond man made in many ways. There is no experience of the falls that a person can have that is not mediated in some shape or fashion by a human hand. Even the falls themselves, the way they so evenly cascade over the lip is something that apparently has been crafted by us. All I could think of during that long and pretty wondrous morning was Red Velvet cake for some reason.

After leaving Niagara, I pedaled up to the Lewiston Bridge, the only bridge in the Niagara system that bikes are allowed to cross since 9/11. Apparently, us cyclists are a dangerous bunch. The bridge was busy. If it were an artery, it would have been having an aneurysm it was so clogged with vehicles. After 90 minutes, I was back on American soil and traveling to Lockport, NY, where I would hit the Erie Canal Tow Path and 90 miles of excellent cycling.

Also: I was back on the Adventure Cycling Map Route for the Northern Tier. I wondered if I would run into some other cyclists. Right when I got into Lockport, I received a call from Cindy telling me that she and Mark had been pulled over by the Canadian equivalent of the State Police. They told them that Highway 17 was not safe to bicycle on and that 2 weeks earlier a cyclist had been killed by an 18 wheeler. Cindy, Mark, and I had been complaining about Highway 17 to one another for a while and I wasn’t surprised when Cindy told me that she and Mark had rented a car and were on their way to Ottowa. I was also relieved to hear that they were both doing well. I’m certainly glad that I biked Ontario, but I don’t think I’ll ever do it again unless they pave some of them damn shoulders.

So…the Erie Canal Tow Path is going to be one day a 500-mile multi-use path that will connect Buffalo with Albany. Right now, the path is only available in discrete sections, the largest of which is a 90 mile section that stretches from Lockport to Palmyra.

As I hit the trail, it really started to dawn on me that I was on the last stages of the ride, back in the U.S. and nearly back to the real world. I was excited making good time on the path. It was a beautiful day. About 20 minutes onto the path, I could pick out about 200 yards in front of me the distinct profile of touring cyclist. A fully loaded touring bike is like the 18 wheeler in the world of bicycles.

I caught up with the solo cyclist and we started up a conversation. Meet Chris. Chris is from the Netherlands and is completing the last legs of his U.S. cycling tour. He started his ride in NYC, biked south to Miami, then west to San Francisco, then north to Seattle, and then west to Bar Harbor, Maine and back south to NYC again. When I met him, he had been on the road for nearly 10 months and had ridden over 9,000 miles. Pretty impressive. His reasons for the trip? I believe he’s here to try and understand the beast that is the United States.

We rode along the nearly deserted tow path and chatted for about 3 hours. Along the way he outlined his theory about the United States Environmental Tipping Point. “You Americans never do anything halfway once you get behind something,” he told me. We conveniently did not talk about Iraq. “Once Americans get behind environmentalism, then all of our environmental problems will be solved. It’s just a matter of time before it happens,” he told me. “Think about it. Think about the social capital your country wields and how much influence your dollar brings to bear on things. I, for one, am optimistic about America and the Environment.”

It’s an interesting point…one that I had never really thought about before. Imagine Americans embracing green the same way they embrace Bud Light or the Superbowl. Wouldn’t it have a more profound impact? Chris seems to think that it’s just a matter of time before this happens. Maybe so. Maybe so.

Chris’s ride, as he described it, takes on a very different vibe than mine. He told me that he basically rides one day and takes one day off, which explains why he’s been on the road for nearly 10 months. Also: he’s being underwritten by the company he works for…something that would definitely help with that style of ride.

One of our topics of conversation was beer. He started talking about how he wanted a Guinness. The more we talked about it, the more it sounded like a good idea. By 7 pm, we had ridden about 80 miles together. Chris suggested that we share a hotel room. Normally, I would have said no, but I had been on the road long enough to learn who to trust. We biked into Brockport, NY and went looking for a place to stay. Brockport, NY, has two motels. They have a Holiday Inn Express, and an Econolodge. We went to the Econolodge first. The Econolodge had no vacancies thanks to a soccer camp that was in town. This soccer camp was called Blizzard NY. I guess it was called Blizzard because teenage soccer players covered the town like a thick blanket of snow with acne. The situation at the Holiday Inn was the same.

We decided to take in the local Chinese buffet and then go from there. Chris is new to Chinese Buffets so I had to explain a few things to him. First of all, he was perplexed why, in a town so small, this Chinese restaurant would have seating for over 400 people and second, why the waitress kept coming back literally ever 5 minutes to refill our beverages.

I explained to him that the restaurant was probably pretty empty 6 days out of the week, but that if he came here around noon on a Sunday, it would be nearly completely full. “People bring their families here after church?” I told him yeah, Sunday is a day of rest, and what better day to honor your religion than to have a heathen non-believer fix your lunch for you.

He understood the quick refill with less effort. The more iced tea you drink, the fewer egg rolls you’re going to consume. During dinner we discussed what we were going to do and we agreed to try and find a place off of the tow path and set up camp. But first…Guinness!!

We had a few options in terms of bars in Brockport and I wanted to go to the one that was on the canal. Chris disagreed, his rationale was that we would probably find friendlier locals in the more divey place. I’ve got to say that his instincts were right on in his choice.

We park our bikes outside and proceed to enjoy a couple of beers. After the first, it seemed like a good idea to have a second. Chris and I were discussing the nature of negativity in an amusing way since things were completely lost in translation. I noticed a guy standing at the bar who was drinking something out of a mason jar. It looked refreshing and he was within reach so I tugged on his sleeve. What’s that, I asked and thus began the odyssey at Barber’s Bar.

Sitting next to the guy with the refreshing looking drink were a couple of ladies also drinking from mason jars. “Why that’s called a Wedge,” said one of them. “Yep,” said the guy “It’s made of grapefruit juice…” “It’s the official drink of Brockport,” said the same lady from the bar. “You need to have one.” “Yes,” said the guy, trying to complete his original thought, “It’s quite famous around here.” “Two wedges for my new friends,” said the lady at the bar and she came over and sat with us. And that’s when we met J, the nicest person in Brockport.

J has lived in Brockport her whole life. She spent the rest of her evening talking with Chris and me and being a one-woman booster for the town of Brockport. When she found out our lodging predicament, she decided to do something about it and made a call to her aunt, the former deputy mayor of Brockport. So…down next to the canal in Brockport is a nice mini marina where folks berth their boats. At this marina is a great little grassy spot, perfect for tents but probably not authorized for tents. J was on the phone for a few minutes and then came back to our table. “Come with me,” she said. “I need to take y’all over to the police department.”

“Um,” I said…

“Um,” said her friends…

“I want them to meet you so you they won’t hassle you when you set up your tents. My aunt said it shouldn’t be a problem.”

This was turning into a very complicated situation, much more complicated than if we had just found a spot on the canal to camp on. I wasn’t super happy about the plan. J’s friends weren’t too happy about it either.

“It you aren’t back with her in 5 minutes, I will kill you,” said one of her girlfriends.

“Um,” I said…but followed Chris and J out into the night anyway.

It turns out that the Brockport police station is right next door to the bar we were so we were gone only 7 minutes…long enough for her friends to come looking…something which I totally understand. If your friend left a bar with two total (and transient) strangers, you’d be concerned too. After we chatted with a patrol officer for a minute and they realized we weren’t crazed lunatics, Chris and I were given permission to camp next to the marina.

We went back to the bar and after a while J and her friends left. J was one of the coolest persons I met on my trip…at least she was the most trusting and genuine.

So the owner of the bar came out and bought Chris and I another round of Guinness. About that time, the bachelorette party rolled into the bar and the epic day continued. The game was something like “The Bride to Be Has to Do whatever the bridesmaids tell her to do” and there was a checklist. The Bride to Be (btb) was supposed to dance with a bald man, serenade a stranger, give her bra to a stranger, give a total stranger a lap dance, etc. Apparently, this is something that happens at bachelorette parties.

Anyway, Chris got the bra and I was serenaded. No lap dance…The bridesmaids were all carrying stickers and handing them out to various gentlemen in the bar. I got “best sense of humor” and “hottest buns” from the btb, and “nicest eyes” from one of her friends and “best overall” from the btb’s mom. It was strange but fun.

At about 2:30 we headed down to the marina to set up our tents. Yes, it was a late late night.

The next morning we both woke up around 6 and apparently neither of us was feeling the effects of the evening. We biked the following day together. Chris had purchased a book to help him identify birds and impressed me with his ability to point out the cardinal based only on it’s call.

We biked through the weirdness that is Rochester and I helped him get his new cel phone working. I took pictures of butterflies, rail trestles, and daschunds riding in bikes.

At Palmyra, Chris and I parted ways. I hope he’s doing well out there. I told him to give me a call when he gets back to NYC.

Day 41--on The Bruce

Today, I'm stopping briefly in Wiarton, Ontario, which is located on the South Bruce Penninsula. Wharton is the home of Wiarton Willie, a white groundhog. He's the town mascot and lives outside the library. I hope to make it another 30 miles to Owen Sound.

Rode the Chi-Cheemaun Ferry yesterday (see below) from South Baymouth to Tobemory. I've spent two days on two of the most beautiful landmasses of the trip. Yesterday was Manitoulin Island and today is Bruce Penninsula. Both are absolutely amazing.

Rode 160 miles from Sault Ste Marie to Espanola on July 16 and 17.
70 miles from Espanola to South Baymouth yesterday.
50 miles so far today.

The weather is okay. Have had headwinds from the south since leaving Espanola.

Wind Powah!

Today I passed a mini wind farm and I can't help but fantasize about owning one of these things. There's something really peaceful about the way they move. Mezmerizing even. Mezmerizing to the point where I was weaving into traffic. What I was actually transfixed by was a group of about 15 seagulls that seemed to be playing some sort of game involving the spinning blades of the turbine. They would fly between the blades circle around and do it again. Over and over and over again. It seemed playful and oh, so cool.

The giant hay bales are a plus, eh?

On The M.S. Chi-Cheemaun

This here's the ferry I took from South Baymouth to the Bruce Penninsula. It was pretty windy on deck. I spent the 1 hour 45 minute crossing talking with Harley rider Steve from Wawa, Ontario. He couldn't get over this bicycle thing I'm doing. He's been riding for over 10 years and hasn't put as many miles on his hog as I have on my bike. Nice guy. I invited him to visit in NYC, but he doesn't think he's interested in visiting the U.S. Oh well.

A gull pacing the ferry. I wonder why?

Ah...that's why.

In the distance is Flowerpot Island. Looked cool in the brochures, but the glass-bottom boat tour was ooo too expensive. Canada in general is pretty dang pricey.

Lakes, Islands, Lakes on Islands, etc.

Manitoulin is the largest freshwater lake in the world. It has its own lakes. On some of these lakes are islands and on some of these islands are ponds...

This is the town of Little Current on Manitoulin. Cute, aint it?

Manitoulin Island Images from July 17

This is the swing bridge you cross to get to Manitoulin. When I pulled up to the bridge it was swinging closed. I managed this shot. The bridge is one lane and appears to have originally been used for trains. You know the smell of rail ties (a mixture of turpentine and wood) on a hot day? Multiply it by a factor of ten on this bridge. Stifling but still neat.

This is the bridge I crossed from Sault Ste Marie, MI to Sault Ste Marie, Ontario

A long bridge. A couple I met in a diner were surprised I made it across in one piece. There is no bike lane.

Lake Superior Shoreline